


The Owl of Ostwick

by BearticBaseborn



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9556271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearticBaseborn/pseuds/BearticBaseborn
Summary: During the talks to quell the Mage Rebellion, the Temple of Sacred Ashes is destroyed, leaving only one survivor. This lone survivor must gather his allies from across Thedas and form the Inquisition.





	

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic in a very long time. I got inspired by my recent play through of DA: Inquisition.

Dripping. That was the only word he could associate with the environment he woke up in. Energy was dripping from the air to the ground, the power of the Fade falling down around him.

The thick, damp darkness surrounding him was illuminated only by a faint green light, letting him see the floating rocks and barren waste that was the realm of dreams. Feeling a sharp pain on his left hand, he looked down and saw a glowing, green scar on his palm that released green sparks of magic.

 _What_ , he thought, staring down at it. It was something that he had never seen before, and the kind of magic it emitted was as foreign to him as the area he was in.

 _How did I get here_ , he wondered looking around. He was actually there, in the Fade. This wasn’t a projection of his mind, he didn’t travel here in his dreams. He was _physically_ in the Fade. Unheard of since the ancient Tevinter Magisters caused the First Blight.

Not only had he done an impossible thing, but he couldn’t even remember it. His former mentor, Lydia, would hex him into oblivion for not remembering such details, _she always did have skewed priorities._

Cradling his left hand to his chest, he looked around trying to find some clue as to how he got there, or someone else that was here physically like him.

As he turned around he noticed a shining, gold light coming from above him. Looking up he saw a form, glowing with warmth. As he looked directly at it, the figure pulsed with energy, blinding him temporarily.

Holding his other hand up to cover his eyes, he began to walk down the path leading to the figure.

Beginning his trek down the path, he stopped beside a puddle of what he saw was green-tinted water. Looking down, he saw his reflection in it. His dark hair was dirty and a complete mess and his hazel eyes were bloodshot. His face was covered in dirt and dried blood from the scratches on his head.

 _What happened_ , he wondered, touching a wound on his forehead that reached his temple and wincing, _that’s gonna scar_.

Looking back up at the figure, he saw it beckoning him. Its arm outstretched towards him, as if it was seeking his aid.

Returning to his task, he began to walk up the path again, going past jagged stalagmites and a river of similar green water. The longer he walked, the further away the plateau seemed to be.

After what felt like an hour of walking, he noticed the path reached an incline before a cliff face with a ladder-like wall. As he reached the end of the path, he heard a faint screeching behind him.

Turning sharply, he saw spider-like beings rushing at him from behind, _Fearlings_. Manifestations of subconscious fears. They may even take the form of a fear, that the victim hadn’t even realised they had.

 _Of course it was spiders_ , he thought to himself. Spiders had always been a sore point to him since a childhood incident involving them. Turning forward again, he took off with renewed energy.

Reaching the wall he began to climb the cliff. Pulling himself up each step, his muscles burned from exertion, but he didn’t dare slow down.

More than half-way there, he looked down and saw the grotesque spiders beginning to climb as well. Their beady, black eyes trained on him, and their fangs spread ready to rip him apart.

He was almost to the top when the glowing figure reached down to him. Its hand almost touching his. But still too far away.

 _Help me_ , he prayed. Whether it was to the Maker or this spirit, he wasn’t sure. Just as their hands touched there was a flash of light, which blinded him to his surroundings.

The next thing he knew he was being thrown to the ground, where the air was charged with magic, and the heat of the ground burned at him.

As he began to lose consciousness, he heard something. A strong, authoritative voice ordered, “Scout Harding, inform the Seeker and Nightingale. There is a survivor!”

“Yes, commander!” Another voice replied.

“Rylen, find me something to bind him,” the first voice growled. Another affirmative to the order followed. Then the owner of the first voice must have leaned down, as what as said next was right at his ear, “If you did this, not even the maker will give you mercy from me!”

After that final snarl, he faded into darkness, hoping that he was back in Thedas and not still in the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed the prologue. I know it was a bit short, but have no fear the other chapters will most definitely be longer! Leave a wee review with any tips, it has been nearly a decade since I wrote any fan fiction, so any criticism is welcome!  
> Thanks again!


End file.
